


Us

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: Bullets [25]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: One word from Valery, and Boris' world tilts on its axis.
Relationships: Valery Legasov/Boris Shcherbina
Series: Bullets [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1372144
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	Us

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [clever observation ](https://litttlesilkworm.tumblr.com/post/628621284462444544/johnlockismyreligion-friendly-reminder-that-in) by Litttlesilkworm on Tumblr.

_“But you are bothering to have_ **_us_ ** _followed.”_

As soon as Valery says these words, Boris' heart begins to beat faster, even faster than before, when Valery threw himself so foolishly into Charkov's jaws, but not in fear this time.

Us.

Boris didn't believe there was a _"us"_.

Of course, he and Valery are in good terms now, their relationship has improved since the stormy start. They work well together, as a team, a well proven machinery.

Because of this, Boris recently found himself having strange thoughts in the middle of the night, when all the lights are out, the work papers rest on the table, and Valery sleeps in the bed next to his.

He has tried to erase those thoughts, alluring but dangerous, he has fought and still fights with them, he said himself that he is just an old fool, that his own feelings are deceiving him, that it’s because of the constant closeness with Valery, that he’s confusing the sense of camaraderie with something else, something that doesn't exist.

And he has almost made peace with it. Or, at the very least, he has kept it at bay.

But now Valery has shattered everything with one simple word.

Us.

As if Valery doesn't see Boris like someone on the other side of the fence, along with those gray and nebulous politicians, mass-produced in a factory.

As if he sees him on his side, close to him, with him.

Us.

Boris shouldn't be surprised, Valery has done this from the first moment he set foot in his life, he demolished Boris' granite certainties one by one with disarming ease.

But this is not the time or the place for those musings, within the walls of the Kremlin, where everything has ears and eyes, where the building itself seems to be able to read into your soul.

Charkov has given his green light to Khomyuk's release, but on the practical side he will not lift a finger. It's up to Boris to make phone calls and sign forms so he can get her out of jail.

He is grateful for the task, in a sense: it will distract him from those thoughts.

Hours later Boris sits on the window sill, an empty glass in his fingers.

When he reaches for the vodka bottle, he finds it emptier than he thought.

He sighs.

That word doesn't want to leave his mind.

Us.

Us.

_Us._

He rubs his eyes; sighs again.

He is tired, tired of struggling with his own feelings and pretending they don't exist, but Valery probably didn't even realize he said it, it doesn't mean anything to him.

Boris should drink into oblivion and go to bed.

There’s a knock on the door, light, hesitant, almost clumsy, and Boris knows who it is even before he goes and opens it.

He shouldn’t open, actually, not in his current condition, but the knocking goes on, bringing with it the insistence of his owner.

Valery is on the other side of the door, calm, so obvious to Boris’ feelings that it’s almost infuriating.

How can he be so unaware, after he said “us”?

"Sorry, did I wake you up? I wanted to let you know that Khomyuk has been released and she is fine, they haven't done anything to her."

“Good. If it’s everything, I…” Boris tries to close the door, but Valery just steps inside, an unstoppable battering ram, like when he slammed his hands on the table in front of Gorbachev, when he gave orders to the helicopter pilot, when he ran after Charkov.

Never in his life would Boris have thought that naivety could be so strong, so fearless.

"I owe you an apology," Valery mumbles, leaning against the door, "before the meeting you said you were working on it, and I probably messed up and gave you unnecessary troubles.”

 _"Oh yes, you did,”_ Boris would like to say to him, _“You messed with this old heart, you brought chaos in my orderly life. Why did you have to say us? Why did you have to make me believe that we are more than just two individuals fighting the worst nuclear catastrophe of all time? Why here and now?”_

Instead, he just shrugs, anxious to be left alone. The presence of Valery, so open and honest, is not good for him now, not when he is so unbalanced and has drunk so much. It’s quite hard to remember himself that is all in his head, with Valery mere centimeters away from him, anxiously scanning his face with his deep blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," the scientist repeats, misinterpreting the turmoil he reads on it, "Tell me how I can fix it."

"No, don't worry Valery, there is nothing to fix: Khomyuk is free and the commission will resume its work. Go home and sleep, it's late."

“No.”

“What more do you want from me?” Boris asks, repeating the words he has already said. Why doesn't Valery understand that his presence, his proximity, is a constant attack on Boris' self-control?

"I can accept that Charkov lies to me, it’s in his nature, I can accept that Gorbachev gives propaganda numbers to the world, but I can’t accept reticence from you."

“It has nothing to do with the liquidation.”

"I don't care, I want to know anyway!"

Valery is relentless in his pursuit for the truth, the stubbornness written in every part of his face, in his almost flaming eyes, in his hard and set jaw, in his tight lips. He doesn't know when to stop, isn’t able to read the warning signals coming from Boris, the tremor that runs through him, the control that breaks, so he is completely taken aback when Boris slams his hands violently on the door on the sides of his head and snarls, "You said **_us_**! Why did you say **_us_ **when you talked to Charkov?"

The politician's words echo in the silence of the room, followed by his heavy breaths.

Now he is so close to Valery's face that he could count his freckles one by one, and part of him is tempted to do so, tempted to lift a hand and caress his pale skin, then cover it with kisses.

The stubbornness has disappeared from Valery's face, replaced by pure shock.

Boris closes his eyes and shakes his head once, slowly, "My apologies. I've been drinking too much and I'm very tired. Please tell me it was just a slip of the tongue, so we can forget. This conversation never happened.”

_"Please Valery, shatter this old fool's hopes so he can put his heart at peace. Tell me that there isn’t any us."_

Valery licks his lips, frowns in concentration, blinks, and when he looks back at Boris, the stubbornness is there again.

"Since you know me, have I ever said something I didn't mean?" he says calmly, but his words have the strength of a punch to the pit of the stomach.

"Valery..." Boris gasps.

Valery leans forward and his forehead, warm and dry, touches Boris', hot and beaded with sweat.

"I said us, I meant us," he whispers, “You started this when you took my side against Bryukhanov and Fomin. Obviously there is a us, but I was afraid that…” then he kisses him, or maybe Boris kisses him.

Or maybe they move in unison, at the same time, because they are a us, they really are.

“Us,” Boris moans, pressing him against the door, squeezing his soft sides, kissing his mouth once more.

“Us, us…” Valery replies, his plump lips insistent and alluring on Boris' ones.

Boris reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers.

“Us, together.”

“Yes,” Valery mumbles, nuzzling his neck and not letting go of his hand.


End file.
